


strung up, strung out

by choimiah



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, Markjin, Post-Break Up, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choimiah/pseuds/choimiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark just wants Jinyoung to leave him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strung up, strung out

**Author's Note:**

> There is allusion to dub con sex, but no rape. I don't mess with that.

Mark presses further into the house at the speed of a sloth. He’s weaving through the sticky, sweaty bodies of mostly uni students grinding onto each other, but his mind is swimming in the dewy mist floating in from outside through the open door. Neon strobe lights pound along with Mark’s skull; the alcohol sloshing in the red cup in his unsteady grip is finally kicking in with something to prove. His feet stutter when he’s in the thick of the central tangle. Glistening foreheads and lips moving with nothing coming out but hot air laced with intoxication and delusion swirl in his fogging mind. Mark swears there isn’t space for anything else, then he spots Jinyoung swapping spit with a nameless bastard in the kitchen and he remembers why he came in the first place. Not to get drunk, but to get absolutely tore down with no hope of waking before noon. 

Mark slides his way to the table of assorted drinks, all encased in ruby cauldrons, and Mark’s name is on every single one. He has two more under his belt by the time he’s stumbling and he can’t remember his last name, barely his first. That’s just enough for him to nab a tall brunette with stoney muscles and too much cologne (or maybe he’s the one being had, doesn’t matter, though). Mark chokes on the ‘M’, and after that it really isn’t important. Sturdy hands are massaging the soft skin where his stomach morphs into the flesh of his pelvis and dip further. 

“Such a pretty boy,” the brunette whispers into Mark’s neck. The sensation tingles down his spine and shocks his toes, they curl. Mark clenches his fingers into the brunette’s worn cotton shirt and pants into the air. His pants turn to muffled whining when a hot tongue is plunged into his mouth and the hands grow more adventurous, daring even. 

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?”

Mark isn’t completely opposed as the man is tugging him away from the couch and toward the stairs. 

“We’re broken up for a week and you’re already sleeping around, Tuan?” Even in his heavily drunken state, that voice is one that he’d recognize any time of the day. It’s a voice that washes his bones in dread and one he wouldn’t be sad if he never heard again. 

“Go hump your new toy,” Mark spits back with venom, face cushioned in the man’s shoulder and eyes closed.

“You heard him,” the brunette warns. “Get outta here.”

“He’s my property and you’re the one who should leave.”

“I’m what?” Mark opens his eyes, pupils blown wide from liquor and anger. Really, both are one in the same. He catches sight of Jinyoung, up close, and his face prickles with hot shame and riveting attraction. His ex-lover is suave in a black jean and sky blue button up combo that causes Mark’s knees to knock into each other, Brunette steadies him. His dark brown hair is gelled upward the way it had been the day Jinyoung disregarded their safe word and gave Mark a black eye. 

“You must take me for a little bitch,” Brunette seems to finally have had enough. The arms that have a secure grip around his shoulders dissolve and Mark swings forward, barely catching himself when his hands shoot out to cushion the fall. Alcohol splashes over his senses like a summer tide, loose and warm. If he doesn’t puke his intestines out, he’s going to pass out soon. Drums tut to an uneven beat that happens to be in time with the nausea spindling like thread behind his eyes and coating his throat in unbearable heat until he’s on his side, nursing every stomach flu he’s ever had the displeasure of experiencing from only a few cups.

Maybe it’s the shock of seeing Jinyoung look so good after the breakup contrasted with Mark who feels, and probably looks, like roadkill left boiling in the sun that has Mark’s insides ready to spill onto the dirty floor. The sound is muffled, but Mark thinks he hears his name, and like he had earlier, they are stuck on the ‘M’. Black shrouds the lit parts of Mark’s brain in fatigue and he is well on his way to actually passing out. 

 

When there is nothing to hold onto but a distatched partner and bouts of undeniable neglect, maybe Mark made the wrong choice. His favorite saying used to be ‘get out while you still can’, because he had the confidence of practicing what he preached. Then he ended up tied to a bed, naked, with a sock blocking his words (as if he could form any), and his deeply rooted confidence loosened. 

Mark should’ve known there would be some strings attached when a smartly dressed man like Jinyoung waltzed into the club, where he worked as an errand boy, to sweep Mark off his feet. A broke, average-looking uni student had nothing to offer someone like Jinyoung.

Except his innocence.

And as melodramatic and discredited as it sounds coming from a twenty-something year old with more than enough experience and braun to refuse, Mark knows it’s true. Jinyoung knew he wouldn’t say ‘no’ and he still can’t. 

The morning after Jinyoung had fucked Mark into a pretzel, in every position and at every pace imaginable, he didn’t flee with a horribly scrawled note in his wake. He stayed, petted Mark until he felt sober enough to eat and then ordered him some breakfast. He watched Mark eat every last bite until the latter was ready to burst in the best way possible. It was a dream come true.

Jinyoung spent so lavishly on Mark that the young man never knew how to say no. So, he said yes instead. To everything. He was sure he gained at least fifteen pounds from all of the ridiculously expensive, fairy-lit restaurants Jinyoung took him to. Though, he never fretted about his figure because they usually humped like rabbits after most of them and Jinyoung liked it wild and intense. No, he didn’t worry about losing his figure when they would eat and then fuck the weight off. 

The glamour wore off after a while, though, when Jinyoung began to ask Mark for favors.

 

Mark snuffles at whatever is being pressured on his lips; ridges graze the soft skin and liquid dribbles onto them. The discomfort prompts Mark to open his eyes. As quickly as he does air expels from his lungs in a rush. He coughs involuntarily, staring up at Jinyoung who has a semi-capped water bottle in his hands. The sight disturbs as much as it calms Mark irrevocably and he pushes himself into a sitting position, wincing at the headache that dawns soon after.

“What are you doing here, Jinyoung?” Mark eyes the man’s every movement with deep suspicion.

“You don’t own the entire neighborhood Mark,” Jinyoung scoffs.

“Not here-here,” Mark sighs in irritation and slight exasperation. “Here, as in, back in my life. Every time I end it with you, you come crashing into whatever happiness I’ve managed to ground and ruin everything. Leave me the hell alone.” His voice pitches embarrassingly. 

“I love y-”

“Don’t start with that I love you bullshit,” Mark cuts in at the speed of light. “I’ve heard it all before, Jinyoung. ‘I love you, I swear it won’t happen again, Markie’, and then it does. I don’t deserve this.” Mark kicks the blankets from his legs, cold attacking the bare skin, and slides off the bed. His balance swivels to the side and his vision blurs, he topples into a firm chest. The scent of Jinyoung fills his nose like a slap in the face by a soft hand. Arms wrap around his waist and squeeze sweetly. Mark shakes his head, tears obstructing his sight further.

“Let me go,” Mark warns limply.

“Markie,” Jinyoung coos into Mark’s hair. “Markie, sweet boy.”

“I hate you,” Mark says, callous.

Jinyoung might be pretending not to hear him, but Mark’s own words ping-pong throughout his mind. He curses himself for being the pushover his own father raised. He reprimands every spare hit and heated name he let Jinyoung get off scot free with, he hates it all. Saying he hates himself wouldn’t be so far of a stretch now that he’s back in Jinyoung’s arms and not entirely displeased with it. The warmth he rebuked for the past week is engulfing him and suffocating his thoughts in love. He feels loved and he hates it to no end. This can’t be right.

“Come home with me, Markie. You know I’ve missed you,” Jinyoung tugs Mark down on the bed, water bottle forgotten. Hands stake previous claim on Mark’s body and meld into all the right places as if they’d never left. 

In remembrance of all those favors, Mark sighs into Jinyoung’s shirt as the man runs his hands up the former’s back and presses these pretty, teasing kisses along his throat, causing Mark to shiver instinctively and flash back.

 

It always started out gentle.

“Do you want to help me test it?” Jinyoung would ask breathily in between pecks down Mark’s bare torso, after an open mouthed kiss turned into heavy groping. Mark felt special because his peers probably had never seen someone so professional and stately as Jinyoung; he was honored that the man wanted Mark, of all people, to aid in a little market research that could potentially gain him, or lose him, hundreds of thousands of dollars in revenue. Jinyoung found him important and worthwhile, he couldn’t say ‘no’ after so long of saying yes. Not that he felt obligated, he simply didn’t want to. 

Mark blushed on the first few occasions Jinyoung brought up his profession as head of an adult entertainment franchise. He would lug home boxes with brightly colored trinkets clanking inside and store them away in a closet, hushing Mark’s inquires with a kiss or two. But, one night, he set a small box right on the coffee table. Mark inched up off the couch, shutting off the television via remote control and stood in front of Jinyoung, big eyes confused and excited.

“Would you like to help me this these?” Jinyoung flipped the lid off the box without breaking eye contact, and Mark felt eyes raking over him even when he looked down, only to gasp like the schoolgirl he wasn’t and look up. 

“You want me to-...”

Jinyoung had Mark’s legs spread and a vibrator stuffed in his entrance before the night was done despite his weak protests at the start and eventual strained consent. They would finish after Mark had came multiple times and before he had the energy to regret how much of a filthy whore he was, Jinyoung swooped him with his honey words and loving touches. 

Gradually, though, Jinyoung stopped asking permission and excused himself right after with ‘work’ as his ultimate excuse. Mark slowly began to awaken from his glittery illusion to the fact that he’d been taken advantage of. Nothing in the world ever felt so right.

Now, everything feels wrong. Jinyoung shouldn’t be wrapping his influence over Mark like he did before. Mark shouldn’t love the way it hurts. He’s a grown man, dammit, he should know better than this. They shouldn’t be cuddling now, Mark the little spoon as always. 

“Do you still hate me, Markie?”

Yes, you bastard. 

Mark hates the way Jinyoung smells so nice when he’s trying to say no and every time the man burrows his nose into the side of Mark’s face like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold him tightly enough and Mark hates him for being the first person he thinks of when he needs a hug after an atrocious test score or something else. It’s disgusting and wrong and everything Mark doesn’t need.

Mark snuggles deeper into Jinyoung’s chest, “Why can't you leave me alone?”

“My pretty boy,” Jinyoung coos, pressing his fingers into the sensitive spots on Mark’s body and running lips plush lips over the younger’s neck, feathery and sweet. 

“I’ll never leave you alone.”


End file.
